Dead Musings
by Mercury Gray
Summary: A few thoughts of Boromir's after he dies. Please read and review.


I don't own him or it (You know of what I speak) though god above knows I wish I did...but I don't. Oh well.  
  
Boromir of Gondor looked on as his friends, tears in their eyes and sorrow in their hearts, sent his shot, spent body over the falls. And if ghosts could talk, he would have told them not to weep.  
  
True, he too felt a longing to be back in that now dead husk as it rode to it's watery destruction, but now he felt free, free of the mortal chains which had bound him to the earth, free of the limitations of the life of the Steward's heir, and free of any confines of the heart. But still there was one chain for life that still remained. He wished for that body back.  
  
He was forty years on that earth, and what had he to show for it? There were no children, no wife, not even a service to the King that should have been to his name. But, said that conscience, you saved the halfings. Whether it took you to your death or not, you died valiantly, Boromir. You need not shed tears for what has been done. Nothing can change the past.  
  
What of Gondor, then? Boromir questioned himself. What would Aragorn do without him? Those had been his parting words... "I would have followed you to the end...my brother, my captain, my king." Now he could do nothing except stand by and watch the destruction of all that he held dear. But, reminded that little part of him that always seemed to know best, you would have helped Aragorn if you could. You did help him while you could, but to aid in his kingship, that is for Faramir to do.  
  
Ahhh, Faramir, my dearest friend, my only brother. Why did Father hate you so? Boromir asked himself. Now his brother would have to bear the burden of the Steward's hate –alone. But as Boromir looked at the face of Aragorn, that kingly face, the last face he had seen before trundling off the mortal coil we call Life. His words would have helped me, thought Boromir, they will help Faramir.  
  
They are alike, those two, wise in council and courageous, at their peril, in war. They seek neither death nor renown, only that something good will come of what they leave behind. Aragorn will make a good King, far better than any king, in thought or name, than I wished to become, and Faramir will make a good steward.  
  
The spirit looked into his friend's tear filled eyes. The strong man Boromir found in Aragorn seemed to have melted at his passing. Now the noble face wept, from those eyes that had seen countless men die, a dear counselor fall to his death, and the love of his life vanish from his sight or reach. Why now did he weep? Boromir would have consoled his friend in anyway a ghost could, but suddenly, an eerie whistle smote the air, though the Three who waited below seemed not to have heard it. A voice-powerful, commanding and yet gentle- spoke.  
  
"Boromir, son of Denethor, come hither to the halls of your fathers. Tarry no longer. Your body has perished and your life is spent, but the shores of Arda await you. Come, Son of Middle Earth, Son of Gondor, Son of Minas Tirith, come!" And Boromir took up his feet, and ran.  
  
Mortal beings cannot attempt to feel (with the exception of those select few who while running have touched God) what Boromir felt in these instants as he ran like a wind across Middle earth. Those blessed feet never touched ground; such was the speed of this running, this flight to another blessed realm, and a new beginning. His heart was lightened as he ran, as if he shed some garment of sorrows as the countries splashed below him. He ran like the wind, like a ray of sun, full of joy and light as a feather. The sundering sea fell away beneath him, and the sky rose to meet him as he took off from the ground, flying over the Seas.  
  
Let it be said that when a soul leaves the earth, a new star appears in the sky. But that night, a comet flashed across the midnight blue spheres of the heavens, a reminder that Boromir of Gondor had taken with him the effervescence, courage, and perseverance that he had brought to his life, his people, and his lands.  
  
Faramir, his brother and ever the council in his mind, saw it, in his outposts at Henneth Annun, and remembered the star lore and wished the lost life luck in the new beginning.  
  
Pippin and Merry saw it, trussed and bound to the backs of the orcs, and it gave them courage, and reminded them of their fallen friend and his courage, and how he would have them not despair at his passing, and they too wished his soul well.  
  
The three hunters saw it, and Aragorn was given now hope in the dawn of the light, and the passing of darkness.  
  
Frodo and Sam saw it, a flash of light where light could not attempt to fall, and they had joy at the prospect of their mission, bleak and impossible as it seemed, and were given courage anew.  
  
And Denethor, Steward of Gondor saw it, and fell thoughts awakened in his heart of tidings for his son.  
  
So it was that Boromir of Gondor passed from one life into the next, and those who knew him despaired of his loss, but let it go, as he would have had it. But he would be remembered. And he would be sorely missed.  
  
'Mourn not overmuch, Mighty was the fallen Met was his ending. When his mound is raised Women then shall weep. War now calls us!" -JRR Tolkien, (Return, 145)  
  
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Tell me what you think. And this is a one shot, so don't give me a ' please up date soon' because as much as I love you, this is not going anywhere. 


End file.
